And the Constellations Winked Down on Him
by Nesma
Summary: His mind was a prison filled with memories and anxious thoughts. His supporters were the Death Eaters around him while his friends toasted to his death. The maddening thoughts of Sirius Black.
1. Part One

**Title: **And the Constellations Winked Down on Him  
><strong>By: <strong>Nesma  
><strong>Disclaimer: Obviously not my world. <strong>  
><strong>AN: <strong>Well, hopefully, Adriana will find this heart wrenching. If she doesn't, well this was a failure. Enjoy?

* * *

><p><em>One <em>

Bodies. Everywhere. Lifeless faces, screams in mid throat, hands scrapped and bruised as if they fell down instead of collapsing into death. There is a finger by his toe and he's not sure whose it is and he feels the bile starting to crawl up. There is a crater, and it's deep and dark. It's getting hard to breathe as his nostrils are filling with dead bodies and literal _shit_. There is a sort of numbness that wraps around his heart and he feels his wand hand dropping slowly. Pops from every direction can be heard-it has to be hit wizards.

_Two_

Sirius counts the bodies frantically with every beat of his racing heart. _One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve. _All muggles from what he can tell. Peter is nowhere on the ground and there is sort of an icy lining that fills his stomach, the thickening of his blood, and his pulse seems to slow down with every trickle of fear. This doesn't look good for him, this looks _fucking _awful for him as he has a wand and everyone around him is _dead_. From the corner of his eyes hit wizards are arriving with every _pop _and a blood curling screams from the live and bleeding victims.

_Three _

Where is Peter? It's a desperate, frantic, insane thought that pumps throughout his body as he eyes the scene again. There are four men, two are quite old, one is a teenager, and the other had to be in his thirties. Four are women, one had white hair like Mrs. Potter and the rest had to be within their twenties-thirties; one had her running shoe blasted off, as if it slipped off mid run. He doesn't like to think where her foot landed.

The rest were children and his stomach turned when he noticed one was a baby; like _Harry_.

_Four _

There are twelve bodies and not _one _looks like Peter. Not one has his pointed noise, his dirty blonde looks, or his pudgy stomach. Not a single one even closely resembles Peter and Sirius is looking over his shoulder and is short of dropping to the ground to find the scum responsible for this _mess. _The screaming muggles, the frozen wizards, and a finger near his foot was all he could see- a finger by his foot with a rat close by scurrying away in the crater…

_Five _

He had to laugh, it was _bloody _funny. The scum, the dirt, the very vermin that Peter had always sworn to never become had been his exact fate. The man valued his pathetic, disgusting life over those of twelve muggles, Lily, James, and Harry; he valued his life enough to cut off one lonely finger and not another more.

Though, Sirius thought as he laughed harder, perhaps an arm and a leg was too much for Peter. Perhaps Peter thought that by _killing _he could avoid the high price of his limbs. And he howled when he thought that this very life that Peter valued, might be snatched away as the rat scurried away into the pipes.

Sirius' only hope was that the rat choked on the blood that was filling the crater because my oh my, was there blood. The ground was slick of it as if it had rained and it was impossible not to track a bloody foot print. My oh my, how he _hoped _Peter was coated with the blood of his victims and how he hoped that the stench of their fear, their death, and their innocence would never leave Peter's nose.

This, Sirius thought, was the least the world could do for him.

* * *

><p>The hit wizards were astounded as they were able to bind Sirius' hands together. And Sirius saw one trip out of fright; he stuttered out the instructions to Sirius. And Sirius, numbed by the bodies, exhausted by the amount of deaths he's witnessed in one week, and hopeful that every step led to another, brighter future, followed the instructions blindly.<p>

Sirius assumed that the fear in their voices had to do with the scene of the crime. It hardly occurred to him that these very witches and wizards were terrified of the very sight of him. Witches who've had to reattach limbs for confused muggles. Wizards that had to respond to muggle sites after horrific accidents. Witches who've dealt with Death Eaters. Wizards who've had to deal with the ramification of Death Eaters tortures, killings, and utter destructions. Wizards and Witches who've ended their days by casting memory modification charms on Muggles; erasing every injury, every death, and every destruction they could have possibly witnessed without ever giving in to temptation and turning their wands onto themselves. It never occurred to Sirius that these very people, the very bravery they possessed, could be scared shitless by Sirius Black.

People were whispering his name with horror, as if it were more feared that Voldemort, and hardly anyone dared to look at him. When he caught their glances, they tripped or turned their heads violently around to spot something else. It was if he were Medusa and could turn anyone to stone with a glance.

This was all starting to feel surreal. They were scared of _him. _Did they even realize that he was still a child most of the time? How many times had Lily rolled her eyes at him and James, hands on her hips as the water in the kitchen ran as she chided them for doing something ridiculous while she was cooking. How many times did she make the joke that she was raising three children, Harry, James, and Sirius? How many times had Remus mockingly pitied her for having such a rebellious adult-child?

For Merlin's sake, he did _sleep _in the same room as Harry as a dog multiple times. Too many times, James had muttered. But Lily had always slapped James teasingly, resting her hand on his shoulder as she told him that it was not right to mock the free nanny services they got from Uncle Sirius. And Sirius was grateful that she let him help out, that she let him be as involved in the family as he was. Perhaps she knew that he was always yearning and hoping to have a family that accepted him, as if he was trying to pile on as much love and family memories since the lack of it from his own family left a debt that seemed too much to fill. Perhaps Lily understood the love and attention that Sirius so desperately needed more than James ever could.

After all, Lily had a sister who hated her guts and Sirius had seen her rely on friends as if they were sisters. Sure, they were fine with it but never understood why Lily needed that acceptance. Or why she cried as much as she did when she was kicked out of her sister's wedding. Just as Sirius had been after he was kicked out of his family; James was a great distraction but never understood why Sirius sometimes was so bitter against his family, why he was so upset that he was burned off the family tree so quickly ("good, you're better than them anyways." James had said when Sirius told him the news). It didn't matter if his family was literally full of the worst people he's met his entire life, the fact of the matter was that family was supposed to stick together and support you regardless; he felt cheated on some guaranteed life experience and he was bitter for it. Left a sour taste in his mouth whenever someone referred to family with such loving tones. And perhaps that's why him and Lily were able to bond on such a personal level. And why Lily was more than understanding as Sirius kept showing up on their doorstep; never once throwing James an irritated look nor never asking Sirius in a nasty tone why he was there _again. _

In fact, Lily had humoured his childish ways and his family yearnings. On the nights he stayed with Harry, curled up next to the crib, Lily always tucked a hideously ugly blanket from Petunia around him. She always made sure to turn on the night light that projected constellations the ceiling, a light that was _really _for Harry but everyone knew that Sirius slept better with the stars above him. Sirius always fell asleep with his heart flushed with the love that Lily and James gave so freely.

There was the other matter that Sirius felt like a fake adult ever since leaving Hogwarts. For fuck's sake, he still had the teddy that he carried around as a child. He often wondered why _anyone _gave him high scores for the O. or N.E. Did they not realize that he still found Zonko's products one of the most advance forms of magic? Did no one realized that he could be easily entertained by comic books and Honeyduke's candies and the very idea of reading an academic journal could make him cry?

Of course, the war harden him in a sense. Every death was a shock and though they were easier to swallow with time, him and James (the name felt like a dull dagger in his heart) always bought fire-whiskey and drank the whole bottle in response. Every horrible injury that he and James received was always treated as a funny joke. Isn't it _hilarious _that their clothes are drenched in their own blood? What did you do mate? Trip over your big head? What about your tail? You son of bitch! And they'd laugh for hours.

Lily and he once spent an _entire _day wrapping every item of James' desk (including the desk) for fun. They giggled and laughed the entire time, especially when Harry tried to unwrap the desk and started to howl when Lily pulled him away from their hard work.

And of course, he still had faith in the system. They _had _to believe him. They had to question him, they had to realize that he would never hurt a hair on the Potters' heads. Surely someone will come and bail him out as always (like Remus or Dumbledore or perhaps McGonagall).

He followed the directions of the hit wizards because it never occurred to him not to. He continued to laugh because he knew the end was near, this fight, this war, will be done and he was delirious with sleep deprivation from this entire fucking war. He hasn't been able to sleep easily the past few nights, not without the stars shining down on him and not without the flush of his heart. But at least now, now, the war will be won.

He had faith that people would see his innocence. He was naïve enough to think he'd get a fair trial, that he'd be able to throw Peter in jail with the rest of the Death Eaters. He believed, as he did all those weeks ago with James, that he was (and they were) invincible.

He, Sirius Black, had survived this war. Barely. But he was still in one piece and that had to count for something. There were a number of times that he nearly died on the battlefield. But he always laughed it off with James, as if often felt like another full moon incident (the number of times he was almost bitten… well, he really shouldn't laugh). He had all his limbs, organs, and ever hair. If he could survive the war, he could survive anything. He was invincible.

And so he continued to laugh as they escorted him away.

* * *

><p>In the holding cells back at the Ministry of Magic, Sirius sat in a plastic white chair. The room was cold, and the bricks were painted over with a dull white color; as if they tried to do something other than a bright white. The chair had bounded him the second he sat down, and the more he fought against the magic; the tighter the ropes until it felt like his rib cage would shatter in a million pieces.<p>

So he sat quietly. Thinking that this was normal. That it was normal to leave a suspect in a room for a long period of time. It felt as if the hours ticked past in the slowest of ways. There was no clock, so Sirius couldn't be certain of the time. But it was only when his mouth was parched and his stomach started to groan for food that he realized that a significant amount of time had to have passed.

The single door of the room swung open, and Sirius could tell that it was Barty Crouch standing in the doorway. His black robes stained at the bottom, a severe look on his face as his dark eyes narrowed on Sirius. His knuckles were pearly white as the clutched tightly the paperwork in front of him. His mouth was thin, and every wrinkle on his face seemed to be lined with utter disgust of the sight of Sirius Black.

Well, Sirius can't deny that it wasn't the _first _time someone looked at him like that. He wondered what the man would do if he dared to wink at him.

"Sirius Black." Snarled Barty, as he slammed the door shut. Sirius jumped a bit his seat, losing his smile, and hissed as the ropes cut into his skin. It felt raw where it bonded him and he could feel his skin peeling off with every move. But this was his moment, he thought hopefully, this is when he gets to tell the truth. This is when they ask him questions.

This is when he gets to throw Peter Pettigrew in the grave that he so willingly dug for himself.

Barty walked over to the chair that Sirius sat in and looked down on him, his mouth turned down for a frown. His hatred for Sirius radiated so strongly that Sirius almost tried to move back. It was only then that Sirius felt an icy thought enter his mind, perhaps, perhaps it won't be that easy.

Barty looked down at his papers, flickering through and grinning a horrible grin before turning to look back down at Sirius.

"Sirius Black. You are under the arrest for the following: the murder of twelve muggles, Peter Pettigrew, Lily Potter, and James Potter. The attempted murder of Harry James Potter. And for the destruction of a muggle inhabited area-"

"_What?!" _Sirius snarled, as it felt as if the chair was kicked out underneath him. _Arrested? _No, no, no, no, no. He couldn't be. His heart pumped as he desperately tried to free himself, his lungs feeling as if they were going to collapse with the pressure of it all.

"Trying to escape, are we?" Snarled Barty, confusing Sirius raw fear of being labeled incorrectly with the arrogance of Death Eater being thrown into Azkaban for Voldemort. Barty continued, looking down at the papers. "You'll be going straight to Azkaban-"

"NO!" Sirius shouted, and the chair did topple to the side. A resounding _crack_ filled the air as he hit his head. White stars exploding his very eyes as Barty laughed cruelly at him. Gasping, panting, trying to take every breath he could as Barty crouched down with him, his foot stepping on Sirius' hair.

"Scared of the dementors are we? It's alright though, you'll have friends at least there. You and those other Death Eaters. We're catching you all now that _he's _gone." Barty said in a mockingly sweet tone, his smile revealing his horribly yellowing teeth as Sirius felt like his lungs were filling with water. This _couldn't _be happening. He felt his senses dull as the fear galloped throughout his body, how his legs felt paralyzed, how his stomach felt none existent, how his heart seemed to have the desire to explode, how his lungs felt like they were failing, and how his mind just wanted to _fight_.

Azkaban? With _Death Eaters? _And did he really say that _Peter _was _dead_?

"You caught Peter?" Sirius grunted, as he screwed up his eyes as the ropes were starting to burn the flesh off of him. He was breaking out in a sweat as he concentrated on every next breath. It was a pity, as he missed the flash of red that was filling Barty's face, the true snarl of a man filled with _hatred. _

"Peter Pettigrew is _dead _because of you-"

"You found a body?" Sirius panted, hope was evident his voice. If that _bastard_ was dead, if he died in the crater, if he died in the pipes, if by some miracle a hit wizard smashed him with their great ugly boots…

Perhaps Azkaban wouldn't be so bad. At least the dumb rat would have killed himself, making it entirely easier for Sirius to deal with the life ahead.

Suddenly, lost in his thoughts, buried within the dreams of a world without Peter Pettigrew, Sirius failed to notice that the stinging from his head was gone. That the boot on his hair was gone. That the boot had swung, and collided with ribs.

The pain exploded, there was a crack as Sirius gasped and cried out. He was on his back, the ropes felt as if they were drawing blood, and he was pretty sure a rib was broken. There were more exploding stars in front on him, bursting with colour as he tried to focus the dirty whites of the walls.

"You're going to Azkaban with no trial. The Ministry already signed the papers Black. You're done." Barty whispered softly, as Sirius tried to move his lips, tried to protest, attempted to build a defense. Surely this was illegal, surely someone was trying to stop this, surely the world didn't believe that Sirius Black was capable of killing Lily and James Potter in cold murder, and surely people didn't think he would try to kill a baby, his god son, the one he slept next to nearly every night with the stars winking down on them.

But the ropes had gotten so tight that the colors in front of his eyes morphed into a blinding white light that overshadowed any defense, any emotion, or any thought and they merged into a a pit of black until there was nothing else to focus on.

* * *

><p>He could hear before he dared open his eyes. He could hear moans, as if someone was just recovering from a torture. Crying as if he was at a funeral. And screams, as if the people were under the crucio curse. It sounded as if he were on the battle fields, and he had to <em>fight. <em>

His eyes flung open but he was confused by the darkness. His ribs were screaming in agony as his hands brushed over the cold, wet, and damp floor underneath his fingers. This was no battle field, and his heart started to cool after the initial shock of fear. Years waking up in fields without memories had killed his nerves and taught him to fear the second he woke up.

Slowly, and painfully, he stood up as his eyes were adjusted to the darkness. Horrible, sucking sounds were around him and he realized that he was still panting when a hooded figure had glided past his cell; a darken, wrinkled hand was spotted underneath the weak fire torch. As if they were forming, the bars materialized in front of him; humming with magic as they worked to keep him in.

Those… _bastards_. He was in Azkaban. And the hope drained out of his heart within a beat. No trial. No fight for innocence. Peter was alive. James was dead. Lily was dead. Harry was doomed to a life with the Dursleys no doubt. Remus probably hated, abhorred, and absolutely disgusted with Sirius' choices (Remus probably wants him dead). Remus was completely ignorant of the truth and there was no way to write to him to tell him that three of them were fools, idiots, and completely reckless the day they befriended Peter. James was dead. Lily was dead. There was no trial. And worst of all, worst of all, Peter was alive.

Sirius grunted, yet failed to contain a scream as he stood up, onto the bench where he found little food and water. His lips were cracked and he could taste the rusty blood on them. His stomach was empty and was howling for something. He gingerly took bites and sips, trying to concentrate on the bumpy texture of the food and the sour taste of the meal. Trying to remain focus on the water that tasted as if someone filtered it through dirt. Trying, and failing, to remain hopeful. Trying to only focus on his food rather than the racing thoughts in his mind.

Yet, he was failing. The thoughts were building their own prison, build on irrational fears and memories of the past. There was a vast collection of those in his mind, after all, you don't fight a war without collecting a few special memories.

There were the horrific ones, that seemed to flash through his mind like a feature film; taking time on the close ups of the dying or dead. It was in multicolor with screams as the soundtracks. It seemed to pick at all the times Sirius _thought _he had drunk himself to the point of no remembrance.

Like when Lily was hit with a curse that made her bleed until the ground around her looked like a pond of blood and him and James were so certain that she was Dead with a capital D. It was Sirius who had to check on her pulse as James had collapsed in the ground with pure agony of the thought that she was dead. She was pregnant at the time.

There was a flashback to the early training days. Except they got ambushed in the middle of it and James was the first to get hit with a stunning spell. The lad didn't even have a chance to turn around properly. Though Sirius eyes had seen _green _instead of _red. _He almost got hit with a killing curse as he tried to reach his friend's side.

A particular bad full moon. Fifth year. They had spent the night running through the forest for _hours._ The early morning hours were spent trying to reassure one another that everything would be okay. The fear as their runs turned into jogs, into defeated walks of shames as they gingerly sniffed the ground every so often. It was only when the sun was bleeding red and gold did they find Remus' mangled body. He was covered in mud, blood, and leaves. It was how he got the scars across his face. He was in the hospital wing for an entire week after that adventure. And it took longer before he smiled again. They never did find out what creature Remus had to wrestle with to get such ghastly scars across his face.

The memories bled into one another, easily switching from one new horror to another. In between the blood and gore, there were the ones that highlighted how unloved he was as a child. He thought he was over the harshness of his mother when he was kicked out, how hollow he felt when he had heard the news that it took mere seconds for his mother to burn him out of the family tree. Or the time when him and Reg had a huge row before he left; how Reg's dark eyes burned with hatred as he yelled at Sirius it was _his _fault. That _he _needed to change. How everything was Sirius' fault.

Though, the most powerful ones were his anxious thoughts. These were the ones that left him motionless on this crummy old bench as he clutched his ribs, thinking that they would collapse under the weight of his heart. What if James thought that he was working with Peter? James' last thoughts must have been on the betrayal of his friends- there was no way that one would think Peter had the nerves, guts, or brains to pull off this operation without some help. Did James die thinking that Peter and Sirius were working _together _to bring the Potters down?

Oh Merlin. Sirius eyes stung with tears as he tried to push the thought away. Of course he didn't _die _thinking that. But Lily had enough time to think. Lily had enough time to hear her husband drop dead, had enough time to devote a few lasts thoughts of what must have happened. Did Lily think Sirius was capable of this? Did she die thinking that Sirius was out to kill her?

Steadying breaths as he gulped the last sip and finished the last of the stale hard bread. His mind was a prison locking him in and the key was buried deep in his heart. The heavy breathing of the dementors outside his cage was the lullaby he fell asleep to.

* * *

><p>Sirius had tried to start a calendar in his cell, marking the walls for the days he was there. After four weeks though, four weeks of waking up to his <em>own <em>screams, eating to the sound of people's hysterical sobs, and four weeks of hearing people pleading to the dementors to _kiss _them… Sirius officially stopped counting. He made him more miserable to see that he had even cared in the first place to make the markings, so in a rage, he destroyed the last reminder that he had hope at all when coming into hell.

What was the point? The days had melted into one another. The light outside of his cell was hardly an indicator. He had tried to tell the days by his hunger and thirst, but found that as the days dragged on that his desire to eat and even drink water was barely there. He only drank when his lips bleed. He only ate when he remembered (which wasn't very often). And even when he did eat, he could only eat a fistful of food before his stomach protested of the weight of it all.

He had vomited a few times, taking away the little energy he had left. It often was cleaned up after a few days, but it didn't bother Sirius. At least the smell distracted him from his own thoughts.

But after four miserable weeks in Azkaban, something changed. Sirius could tell by the way the dementors were withdrawing from his cell, though it was still _impossible _to think of a single happy memory, Sirius didn't feel overwhelmed by his own horrors. He just felt numb, his heart hallow, and he found some energy to drink and eat.

"My, my. Sirius Black." Came a whisper, and Sirius jumped, the plate rattled noisily on the ground and the food splattering all over the floor in a spectacular fashion. Sirius' eyes focused on the man in front of his bars and instantly felt his heart shrivel in fear.

Barty Crouch stood in front of him with the nicest of black robes on. His hair was slicked back, and the wedding band on his finger seemed to mock Sirius relentlessly. Sirius looked down at his own robes. They were tattered, they were soiled with the dirt on his bed and the food that he spilled and the vomit that seemed to happen yesterday. Sirius couldn't care to change out of the robe as he couldn't see the point – dementors couldn't see after all. He felt a hand go to his hair and it no longer felt smooth, but rough with knots and there seemed to be enough grease to fill his old motorcycle.

"Do not worry. There are others in _far _worse state than you my dear boy." Barty grinned, as he placed his hands behind his back as he stepped closer. As if he were a protector, someone who truly cared about Sirius.

Sirius immediately clutched the poorly healed rib. It still throbbed, and the merest touch could send Sirius into hysterics. Barty grinned wider, as if the idea of Sirius with a broken rib was a hilarious joke.

"I have come to potentially offer you a deal. You see, you were part of the elite group of the Dark Lord… the names you must possess would be instrumental to bringing down the last remaining followers. Give us some names and we might reduce your life sentence." Barty said, leaning forwards a bit as Sirius turned his head away from the grinning man.

A life sentence here? Well, at least he knew his fate. He could stop wondering if they were going to kiss him or keep him here till the end of his days.

A deal. A deal sounded nice. Yet not one for Sirius to take, for he had _no _names. Except for one. But he no longer had faith in the system. He no longer believed that _anyone _was coming for him anymore. The only name he had would make him the laughing stock of the Wizengamot. How would Dumbledore frowned at Sirius for giving a name, a person who was clearly weaker than him. How the others would find it hilarious that weak little Peter was actually strong enough to bring down Sirius, or that Sirius would think he was possible. Who would take him seriously if he named a 'dead' man? To say that he had _cut off his own finger and transformed into a rat_ rather than face Sirius? Who would _fucking _believe him?

There was no hope, no light, and no chance for Sirius to redeem himself.

"No. I have no names." Sirius said, breathing heavily as he heard Barty click his tongue.

"Are you _sure_? Think _very carefully_. The Dark Lord is _gone. _He's not coming back for you, for his followers, for anyone. He's _dead._" Barty said in a nasty tone, snarling at every enunciation as if he wanted to cut Sirius in the most brutal way ever. As if he thought he was stabbing Sirius heart, cutting it in thousands of different ways.

Instead, Sirius grind his teeth in anger. _Fuck _Voldemort and _fuck _his supporters. _Fuck _the Death Eaters and Regulus and Severus Snape. _Fuck _the Ministry of Magic who put him in here and _fuck _Barty Crouch who threw him in here with no trial. And an especially big _fuck you _with both middle fingers high in the air for Peter _fucking _Pettigrew. Sirius felt like he could feel his teeth reduce to powder.

"No. No names." Sirius repeated. Lifting his head up and shaking his head a bit to see Barty's jaw line harden, the eyes narrowed in such disgust.

"Fine. May you _rot _in Azkaban." Barty said savagely, turning on his heel when a surge of energy hit Sirius. He was on the floor, banging at the bars, _yelling, _sticking his head out as Barty stopped in his tracks.

"Peter Pettigrew!" Sirius heard himself, feeling anger like he never felt before as Barty turned around to face him.

"What of him?" Barty said coolly.

"Did you ever find him?" Sirius asked, matching the coolness of Barty's tone with his. He _had _to know.

How many nights did he wonder if Peter had died in the pipes? How many times had he wondered if Peter's dead body meant Sirius' guilt to the eyes of the public? The thought of Peter alive, enjoying a meal and fresh air and laughter and safety was enough to make Sirius vomit and curl up into a ball in the corner.

Peter's death condemned Sirius to Azkaban. Peter alive meant that he could still work. He could still find Harry and kill him. Peter killed already, what's another time for him? What's another murder for someone who willing cut off a limb rather than go to Azkaban? Rather than face his friends? Rather than do the right thing? Peter Pettigrew clearly didn't give a damn when it comes to right or wrong, as if they blurred together as if everything was alright, as long as it meant that Peter Pettigrew got to live.

Even if that means killing a baby.

Barty paused for a second, than another second to look around him before striding slowly to Sirius. Sirius looked up and was all to reminded of the power this _idiotic _man held. Barty simply stared down, couldn't even bother to get at the same level of Sirius. Though, to be fair, Barty looked down on him as if he was a bug to be squashed under his enormous shoes.

"All we found was a finger. But you knew that Sirius." Barty said evenly, before continuing on with a sort of defiance in his voice. A sort of, 'rally the troops' tone, a tone that made Sirius' skin crawl with a thousand little creatures. "But his bravery, his courage of standing up to _you_-" At least Barty was acknowledging Sirius to be more powerful than a _fucking rat_, "-was rewarded. We gave him Order of Merlin Third Class." Barty said it with a grin, with huge, giant grin on his face. As if this was something inspirational, wonderful even, that the Ministry of Magic bestowed an award to a _murderer. _

"NO." Sirius snarled, his hands clutching the bars as he shook them with vengeance he didn't even know existed. "NO." Sirius screamed as Barty backed away, a look of fright crossed his face as he seemed to be reminded _why _and _how _Sirius ended up in Azkaban.

Sirius couldn't believe it. Order of Merlin? Third Class? The fucking rat got an _Order of Merlin _for _betraying _his best mates? For murdering them? The Ministry of Magic gave Peter Pettigrew, a _Death Eater, _an _Order of Merlin _for standing up to Sirius? The anger was comparable to the moment he found out that Lily and James were dead. Red hot fire seemed to pulse through his veins and he could hear himself screaming hoarse, yelling as if it would break the walls and the bars.

"IT DOES NOT MATTER BLACK. YOU WILL ROT IN AZKABAN. I WILL MAKE SURE THAT YOUR LAST DAYS ARE IN _HERE_." Barty yelled over Sirius, the veins on his neck throbbing horrendously so that Sirius wondered if they would pop right here in front of him.

_Merlin _he hoped they did. He wished that they would splatter open and the blood would rain on them all, the dementors and the other prisoners. He hoped that Barty would drop _dead _right then and there. This horrible, stupid man thought he was the idealist to lead them all. So another _fuck you_ forBarty Crouch. Last Sirius had heard, he was next in line for the Minister of Magic job; what a better man for the job than one who gave a rat an Order of Merlin to honor the deaths of Lily and James Potter.

Sirius could tell that the man ran away for the dementors were swarming him, feasting on the raw emotion that Sirius was emitting. It was the first time in four weeks that he felt anything, the emotion so strong that it felt like he could do _anything. _He stood up, and continued to bang his fists against the rails, hardly caring that the skin was splitting open, hardly noticing that the other prisoners went silent for _Sirius Black _hardly made noise. Many thought he had died in his cell, gone mad with grief over the Potters.

It was an odd thing that the handful of people who knew the truth, who could empathize with Sirius Black were the very people he dedicated his life to fight. For every Death Eater felt as betrayed as Sirius did when Voldemort met his end. Every Death Eater was angered beyond comprehension when they discovered that Peter Pettigrew had faked his death, that he had morphed into a _fucking _rat and disappeared. They all understood Sirius' anger. Every Death Eater, though unwillingly, sympathized with Sirius Black. After all, they had their own horrors, their own memories, and their own revulsion at themselves.

But very few could say that they had been an integral component on the plan that murdered their best friends. They had their own demons and shadows to play with. Though, at least, they weren't Sirius Black. At least _they _weren't part of the plan to kill their best friend.

So the entire prison listened in fascination as Sirius yelled and shouted and cursed everyone in it. The dementors were elated, they had a feast of Sirius anger and fury. Nearly ten of them were outside his cell, and it only took fifteen minutes until Sirius found himself collapsing, found himself drowning in every painful thought and memory in his mind. But there was a new one, a new thought that seemed to burn his heart and crush his ribs and drown his lungs.

Peter Pettigrew won an award for killing Lily and James Potter. And it was all that Sirius could think about, obsess about as the dementors ebbed away from him. He was huddled in a corner, knees to his chest, rocking backwards and forwards as he tried to _stop _imagining how the award ceremony must have looked. How many galleons were spent for the _hero._ How Peter's mother must have donned on her nicest clothes (she didn't even _know _the truth of her own fucking son). How many speeches were made of his bravery, how many of Sirius closest friends must have lauded this _brave man's efforts _against the nasty temper of that Sirius Black. Oh, how it broke his heart imagining Remus struggling to make through the speech without a tear in his eye with his shoddy robes and scarred face. Referring to the _bastard _as his closest friend.

If he stayed here, Remus would _never _know the truth. He'd go day to day thinking that Peter was this kind, quiet, and sweet soul. And it made Sirius sick, quite literally, at the thought that Remus had been betrayed in such a humiliating way.

Out of all of them, from Peter's cheating ways, to Sirius boiling hot anger that forbid him to even _think _about getting help to track Peter down… Remus deserved a better fate. Remus deserved far better friends that he actually got.

Remus, the one who ate chocolate in his bed and had a pile of books on his bedside the very first night of Hogwarts; as if worried that his only friends were only between the pages. Sirius guessed it was a symbolic moment when he ran into the bedside table, making every book tumble and fumble over one another. Instead of helping Remus though assemble his wall to hide behind, he just yelled at the prat to get up, grab a pillow, and go at it. Ever since that night, shy little Remus had friends.

Remus who turned the other way when him and James were wrecking havoc in Hogwarts. From one master plot to another with pranks. Destroying countless school property, humiliating their entire groups of friends, losing more points than Sirius cared to remember. Yet, Remus always forgave them and always helped out if he could. Remus always did what he could for his friends and that was something, or at least Sirius thought, that everyone should know about his friend.

Remus, the one every single blasted witch and wizard pointed to fingers to when things started to go array. _He's a werewolf after all _was the excuse everyone used behind their hands and low whispers with raised eyebrows. _The Dark Lord is kind to them, _as if forgetting that Remus always placed his personhood before his wolf side. Voldemort was always kind to those who had wished to be wolf and discard their human life. Remus, was never ever that. How it hurt, how it tore at his soul and heart to think that he Sirius ever allowed Peter to talk him into seeing Remus other than who he really was.

There was one scene in particular that seemed to come up. Him and Peter were at this muggle coffee shop, Peter was clutching his black porcelain mug tightly, the scratches on his knuckles evident as he drank the hot chocolate within the mug (that's another thing, what kind of fucking Death Eater drinks _hot chocolate?_). He remembered Peter's wide watery eyes as he explained in exquisite detail about seeing Remus disappear into the underground world.

"I'm a rat you see, followed him, very concerned for him. Concerned for us!" Peter had said quickly and Sirius nodded along as he felt his heart sink a little bit. He never thought, well, he never wanted to _think _that Remus would betray them and go to the other world. It was a cliché and far too easy to assume. No, Remus betraying them did make sense. It made the most sense. And so, he had grimly nodded his head as he sipped the coffee in front of him, never _once _noticing the shaking of Peter's hand or the beads of sweat that was slipping from his forehead or the way that the rat had too eagerly agreed on moving to a new topic; as if the current one made him too nervous. _Why _did he let Peter take control of the conversation?

Sirius threw up, the little food and water he had stuffed down his throat came up in a burning way that seemed to have scalded his throat and mouth. He realized that he threw up mostly acid and he wondered how long until it destroyed the lining of his stomach, his throat, and his mouth; how long until his body started to physically destroyed itself, forcibly decompose to the point that his addled mind would match his weary body. Panting, gasping on his hands and knees as he looked down at the vomit. At least, at least this time he didn't fall into it. That was something to hold onto. Though that small pride was like a lit match in a thunder storm.

Yes, his friends were raising glasses for Peter as he rotted in Azkaban. Many toasted to his death more likely. The image of his friends gathering together, expressing love for Peter Pettigrew while wishing for Sirius' death was enough to turn him green with envy. But it also broke his heart in a million different pieces.

Perhaps, a bitter thought filtered through his mind, perhaps he wasn't so invincible after all.

* * *

><p>After his little destruction of his calendar, he regretted it days later. Resting his weak body against the wall, he could hear the cries of the new comers. And the illicit talks between the prisoners.<p>

Dementors have no eyes and ears.

_"I should have given names!"_

"They'll be back. Give it two weeks."

Sirius turned his head as he looked up at the bars high above him. Were they telling the truth? Two weeks from now they'll come and pester him for names? Spit on him as he refuses _yet again._ What names did he have to give? Could he name the Death Eaters he fought? Would that give him less time? Was this all a plot to have everyone name each other without really reducing the time.

In two weeks time, he'd have to face Barty Crouch and he could only close his eyes as he tried to beat away the fear that was eating away at his heart.

* * *

><p>"NO FATHER! IT WASN'T ME! IT WASN'T ME. PLEASE FATHER!"<p>

Sirius eyes snapped open as he sat up on his bench. Rushing to his bars, his feet making pitter patter noises as he gripped the slimy bars, his face pressed against the slick metal as his eyes tried to adjust properly to the light.

The dementors glided in as two ministry officials were half dragging a teenage boy. One that had an uncanny resemblance to Barty Crouch… Though, it was the second prisoner that came walking through the doors calmly, walking serenely as if it was a stroll through the park rather than to her own personal hell. Bellatrix looked to the side and locked eyes with Sirius.

Sirius dropped his hands from the bars as his cousin stopped, a terrible grin spread across her face as her eyes narrowed on him.

"Little _ickle _Sirius is in here? In Azkaban? Oh right, I forgot that you _killed your best friends." _She said it in a baby tone, her black eyes glittering, as her hair fell over half her face as she started to laugh horribly, causing Sirius's blood to boil in fury.

She _knew _that he didn't commit the crime. She knew the truth. She was smart, she was far too smart for her own good and knew where to stab someone and when. But Sirius was just as quick.

"And what about you dear cousin? What hell did you cause while I was here like a good little boy?" Sirius whispered, his teeth bared as he forced himself to grip the bars in front of him; otherwise, he would've surely passed out.

"No news here? No allies with your _fellow _death eaters? You'll be pleased to know that Alice and Frank Longbottom-"

_No. No. No. No. No. _Not them. Not them, dear Merlin, please, no. Oh Merlin, why?

"You didn't-" He gasped, trying keep himself upright as his heart cracked in a thousand different pieces.

Bellatrix's lips curled into a small smile, she took a step forward, and Sirius had to force himself to stay there. "They're only insane. No use to us to find _him _if they're dead-" She said lazily, the dementors haven't affected her.

_Yet. _

"Neville – the baby-" Sirius desperately asked, the words tumbling over his tongue in his hurry, no, need, to ask.

"Move along!" Barked the ministry official, the one that had to drag a boy (who looked half dead), and roughly grabbed Bellatrix who fluttered her heavily lidded eyes. She allowed the man to show her the way, but only so that she could throw a wink over her shoulder.

Sirius grimaced as he backed away. New thoughts. New Fears. New landscapes for him to visit in his dreams. Alice and Frank were insane. No doubt by the crucio curse. No doubt in hopes of finding out about Voldemort. He felt himself back into his bench, as his legs buckled underneath him.

Alice and Frank. Well, everyone talked about Lily and James and their love story. How Lily grew to love the dork within, how James matured, how she joined in on his pranks, how he grew into the Head Boy role, how she nursed him until he was over a treacherous cold, how he proposed after graduation since he claimed he could hardly live a life without her in it, how she said yes, how smart he looked in his suit, how she was a beauty in her wedding dress, and how their vows made everyone cried. Everyone knew the love story of Lily and James.

But if anyone bothered to ask Sirius, he always liked how Alice and Frank fell in love. He loved his mates, but there was something special about two people always liking each other.

How Alice used to walk the long way to Transfiguration so that she could say hi to Frank as he walked to his Herbology class. And how Frank used to do the exact same thing so that he could see Alice. How he used to send her treats on Halloween and swore on Merlin's grave that it wasn't from him. How Alice would send him Christmas cards and mistletoes and promise that she would never be so bold. They finally got together sixth year, in the depths of the library after Alice dropped her book and Frank bent down to help her. When they were caught holding hands, many assumed that this was normal (_everyone _thought the pair had been dating since first year, when in reality, it was only sixth year). There was a nice sense, almost reassuring sense that the two had spotted each other and knew they were meant to be together. There were no dramatic fights, there were no loud proclamations of love, just two people wondering why it took so long to be together.

But now? Lily and James were dead. Alice and Frank were condemned to the war in their minds. Who the fuck knew about the baby. Sirius didn't put it past them to kill a baby. Or to even torture it. What affects would that have on such a young baby? Would he be able to walk? Would he be able to function?

And the worst? The fact that the sacrifice that Lily and James gave the world _wasn't enough. _They may have defeated the leader, but failed to squash the ideas. They _failed_, they all did, in showing the world that there are far more valuable items to cherish than pureblood, that such an ideology was disgusting, revolting, and horrific. They failed to show the world that purity within blood and magic was unnecessary. They failed to stop the murder of Lily and James, and the failed to stop the deaths (because, really, they were worse than dead) of Frank and Alice.

* * *

><p>"Sirius Black." Came the cool tone of a man trying to be more impressive. Sirius opened his eyes to find himself staring up at the bleeding ceiling, droplets raining down on him as he turned his head over to face this man. After all, how many times had he heard James deepen his voice to impress Lily?<p>

Though, he scrunched his face in confusion as he saw the man dressed in a purple pinstripe suit, a bowler's hat in his hand. It was the same man that tripped over the sight of him that day. But why was he here?

"My name is Cornelius Fudge, Minster of Magic-"

_Well, _that was something.

"What about Barty? I thought-"

"You thought wrong." Fudge said coolly, his grip on his hat completely squashed it and it took every ounce of effort on Sirius' part not to snort. Clearly he was feeling unqualified for this position. But there were still a grip of fear in his heart, after all, what sort of devil had to knock Barty's climb to success?

"I came by, in hopes of persuading you of providing some names-"

"I already said I had none." Sirius said roughly, the question hitting a nerve somewhere deep, somewhere exposed.

He had to wonder how many Death Eaters gave his name up for reduced time. Or was he merely a freebie? Something to collect at trial like that awful monopoly game that Lily once forced them play.

Unlike Barty, Fudge left and Sirius was relieved to go back to his prison of memories. He spent many hours revisiting all sorts of memories with the Potters. The happy ones, the angry ones, and the sad ones. They all made him regret that he never appreciated the time spent together. It always made him wonder, what if they survived.

But it was a painful reminder that he was alive and they were gone and he was rotting in this cell and all of his friends wished him death and Peter Pettigrew was alive and his only believers were the Death Eaters in Azkaban.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Love it? Hate it? Review it. <strong>


	2. Part Two

**Title: **And the Constellations Winked Down on Him  
><strong>By: <strong>Nesma  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Not my world, obvi.  
><strong>AN:<strong> Right. One more part and I'm DONE. I swear. Also, curious for tumblr stuff... find me at writingrosesandcoffee.

* * *

><p>Sirius started to realize that he was a rather <em>special <em>prisoner. After Fudge left, he noticed that the amount of dementors outside his cell. There was, always, always, at _least _two if not more. As if they wanted to make absolute sure that Sirius felt like shit, garbage, complete waste of space 24/7.

When Sirius studied about dementors, they always highlight that a person is rendered of all their happy thoughts. How logic arguments tends to fail with prisoners as they have a difficult time engaging with that aspect their brain; everything is emotional. He recalls writing an essay, and writing this line at least five times because of a particular charm that James pranked on his quill, that those who are constantly exposed to dementors constantly on a 24/7 basis, are rendered to their worst possible thoughts and memories. Those who are exposed to dementors, low security prisoners, have the opportunity to get a break from the awful thoughts. They are weak and numb but still had the opportunity to hope. They were able to recover much faster than those who were under long duress (and duress was the word because Sirius found it so odd to describe an emotional hell).

With every glance outside his cell, with every pacing as he viewed the dementors slink and glide outside of his cell, he often had the logical thought (and this was purely logical unfortunately), that there was no hope for him.

Even if he did get out of this maddening place, what hope was there for him? He grew up during a war, he was trained to be a fighter, and he was unsure how to handle a time of peace. How to deal with diplomatic deals and friendly negotiations.

He only understood defensive spells and healing charms. Memories in the fields haunt him more than ever whenever he has his logical thoughts.

There was the time that it was just him and Remus at the safe house. How they couldn't even build a fire or light their wand in fear that it would attract attention. How they took turns sleeping, taking shifts, because that's the only way they knew how to sleep. Countless missions meant that their sleeping schedule was fucked, and even when they were off the clock; well, it's hard to sleep in your comfy bed for a full eight hours knowing that the building could crumble upon you in an attack (especially if you lived in building with muggles, Death Eaters _loved _causing spontaneously collapsing buildings on muggle inhabitants). Anyways, they made it through the night, but that was merely the calm before the storm.

They were outnumbered, as usual, it was just him and Remus against ten Death Eaters. A green curse almost hit Remus. Sirius, his quick rising temper, threw a sectumsempra curse at the Death Eater. He fell to the ground, distracting the others as Sirius and Remus were able to take more down. But Remus was hit was something and folded upon himself within seconds.

It was a draw, but Sirius took Remus and apperated back to another safe house. He sent a message to headquarters as he tried to shake Remus awake. But when he got his friend to open his grey eyes, he started to _scream _and thrashed around. It was as if he was under a permanent crucio curse when he was awake.

Sirius must have tried a _thousand _spells. He tried to reverse the spell – nothing. He tried a calming spell – nothing. He tried a calming draught – nothing. He tried a cheering charm – nothing. He tried a sleeping charm – nothing. He tried a sleeping draught – nothing. He tried another potion in hopes of reversing the spell – nothing. He tried contacting the headquarters for help – they gave him list of spells that did nothing. He tried a few of his own – nothing. He writes back for more help and they suggest putting a silencing charm if necessary until the effects wear off.

Sirius thought he read the letter wrong as Remus continued to yell in the background. But three times rereading it, he snarled at the letter, crumpled it with one hand and threw it on the ground. Making sure to stomp on it two times as he goes back to the living room with Remus.

Remus, who has the highest pain tolerance he's ever encountered. Sirius has seen him after full moon adventures with wounds that cause him to bleed for days; but Remus always shrugs and claims they feel like a splinter. But at that moment, Remus just _screams. _No words, just intelligible sounds that communicate just exactly how much pain he really is in.

And so Sirius sat there on the wooden floor and watched his friend thrash on the floor and yell. Sometimes, Remus stis up and continues to scream. Sirius charms the floor to be comfier, though unsure if that helped. It took a few hours till Sirius fell asleep in the same room, and he woke up to another round of screaming. He felt guilty for falling asleep, shocked at his own ability to shut Remus out.

It took 48 hours for the effects to wear off. And Sirius was nearly _mad, _driven insane by his friend's screams and shouts and tears and yells. Remus panted heavily after the spell lifted, but he quickly fell asleep on the floor. Sirius levitated him onto the couch and covered him with a blanket. He slept on the floor next to his friend because he doesn't know what else to do.

He finally appreciated the saying that silence is golden.

Remus and Sirius never talked about the incident. It was a painful memory for the both of them, and they both stashed it away in hard to reach places in their minds. But they would both be lying if they claimed it didn't cause them to wake up in the middle of the night screaming or cause them to go into defensive mode if they _did _hear yelling.

When they re-entered the real world, they find out that a known Death Eater is dead. Bled to death. Ministry officials found the body in a field. Their field.

Remus and Sirius never discuss it.

Sirius thinks about those 48 hours with Remus screaming a lot these days. He hasn't talked in days and he wonders if the dementors took his vocal chords away like in that faerie tale that Lily used to read to Harry about the mermaid.

Then again, _everyone _goes quiet here eventually. Some fight harder and longer, but they still go silent. Like that mini Crouch child. Sirius was _very _interested in his screams. Lots of yelling about his father betraying him, how he was hurting mother, how he remembers the punishments. All boring things really, I mean, this was a prison filled with murders and killers and tortures and professional life ruiners.

If you're not screaming about a skeleton in your closet, then it begs to ask how on _Earth _did the court find you guilty?

It takes a while, but then the boy shouts about the Death Eaters. He screams about the tortures from the _Dark Lord _and how he _failed _him (not his parents, he seems very distraught that he failed the _Dark Lord _though hardly a care in the world for disappointing his parents). He screams _a lot _about Wormtail.

And that's when Sirius has another logical thought, another wave of burning sensation that hits him again. They all called him_ wormtail. _Every shout, every yell, every cry that had to deal with stinking Peter Pettigrew… he was always referred to as _wormtail. _

Sirius bites down on his bottom lip so hard that he draws blood (not that hard when he's constantly dehydrated and his lips are cracked).

Wormtail, Moony, Prongs, Padfoot. Padfoot, Prongs, Moony, Wormtail. Prongs, Wormtail, Moony, Padfoot. Padfoot, Moony, Prongs, Wromtail. Wormtail, Padfoot, Prongs, Moony. Moony, Prongs, Padfoot. Moony, Wormtail, Prongs, Padfoot.

How many times did they rearrange their names on that blasted map? Until they came upon Moony, Wormtail, Prongs, and Padfoot. They thought they were _so _clever. No one would be able to tell what their names stood for. Merlin, they thought they were fucking geniuses at fifteen years old. They used the names with one another but gave a dirty look whenever someone else used it. It was Padfoot's wedding gift to Lily to allow her to call him Padfoot. And even then, she used it rarely; as she knew the personal attachment they had to the names.

She wasn't there the time they found out about Remus. She wasn't there the first time they _seriously _fucked up the transformation (Prongs had to visit the Hospital Wing and Sirius had to pretend that he said a random word that made him have antlers. He got detention and Prongs stayed in the wing for two weeks). Lily wasn't there was they spent _hours _in the bloody library, hiding under James' cloak in the restricted area, stealing every transfiguration book they can find. Lily wasn't there the time they _finally _got it right, when they got the nicknames. She wasn't there for the first full moon adventures. She never knew what it was like to have a fully bodied werewolf nip at your heels. She never knew the panic of trying to find Moony at the dead of night and she never knew the relief of when you find the bloodied body, scratched from head to toe but at least _alive. _She never knew what it was like to be a marauder, and so she never got the nicknames.

Yet, Peter seemed to have felt differently. The followers using the name, clever considering very few knew who it could refer to. It was a clever guise but it hurt as if Sirius was walking on a pile of broken glass. How _rude _to take something that the four created and use it against them? How _cruel _was it that he gave away his nickname to his enemies but Lily couldn't use it? How fucking _despicable _was it that Peter got the best fucking disguise this century has seen as a bloody rat when he basically threw Sirius into this hell hole.

There were many things that haunted Sirius in this cell, but every time he thought of Peter, it was as if the rat had found new ways to taunt him. Things started to make sense and it was painful to think that they were all so blind for years. How they all loved him like a brother yet he stabbed them in the back, not even giving them the curtsey to stab them in front. At least when Sirius tracked him down, he made sure to make his goals clear.

Kill the rat. And he failed, he failed Lily and James. He failed to avenge them. He failed to recognize the signs earlier, except now he was catching up but it was far too late. Their graves were dug and the dirt was thrown on them. And another split in his soul as he realized that James always wanted him to give the eulogy.

"Just talk about my blazing good looks, my marvelous quidditch skills, and please try to convince someone to write my biography. Those always sell better when the person is dead." He used to joke at the kitchen table, chair tilted back lazily as his foot was carefully balanced, as Lily scoffed. She was usually cleaning the dishes, she always did it the muggle way. A habit that she never quite broke, with her elbows in some suds and her hair pulled back into a messy pony tail. She had to remind her dear (dead now) husband that those dead folks made some contributions to history. And James would always retort that his good looks _was _a contribution. Sirius always barked out in laughter as Lily rolled her eyes, and he always grinned when James would jump up and give her a hug from behind, kissing her on the cheek as Lily leaned back on him.

Sirius had to wonder who gave the eulogy. It had to be Remus. Peter was 'dead' and Sirius was worse than dead (though, he's sure some funeral goers wished he was dead). Remus probably gave a sappy speech about the two. Which would be fine. It just could have done with the humour that Sirius would have obviously provided if he was allowed to attend the funeral.

He didn't even _dare _ask the ministry officials here if he could. If Barty Crouch broke a rib because of a question about Peter, what would they do about him asking to attend the most celebrated wizard and witch of the century's funeral? The week it took him to track down Peter, he clipped every newspaper article that lauded the bravery of Lily and James.

How could he not? He loved them more than he could express in words. He cried over every article that wrote about Lily's battle in Hogwarsts, the bullies and insults hurled her way because she was a Muggle born. He cried over every piece that mentioned James' courage to go after the darkest wizard of their time with _no wand. _He sobbed over every little article about Lily's courage, about her wits and brains because she would have never wanted to be remembered solely as a mother but as a fighter (she was getting her wish). And of course, he clutched every piece about James in school tightly to his chest. Those clippings were in a shoebox in the hotel room that he stayed out. He has no doubt that Ministry officials found those and thought there were sick trophies to him. They were probably thrown out and Sirius is bitter that he didn't stuff at least one article in his robes for him to keep.

There was an odd thing about grief. He wanted _everyone _to know how _amazing _the Potters were. He wanted everyone to remember Lily as the smart fire spitting flame that she was. He wanted them all to remember James for his childish antics but brilliant magic. He wanted them to all know that a complete shame that not everyone got to know the Potters. He wanted them to regret the chance they turned down to get to know them.

But he always wanted to keep them close to his chest. He had memories that he didn't want to share to the world. Like how him and James use sneak out of the Potter household and drink at the local muggle pub. Curious to see what it was like to live in a world where there was no magic and no fear of going out in night. He didn't want the world to know that Lily could out drink him in firewhiskey but puked at the first drop of wiztequlia. He certainly didn't want the world to know that there were times when he was sad (especially after deaths in the order) that he would transform into a dog in the Potters house, browse for a room only to find Prongs as a deer, curled up in the middle of the floor. And how Padfoot would curl up next to him, because it was easier to process through sad emotions as an animal. And they both knew it.

He wanted everyone to know about the Potters, but he didn't want them to know everything. He wanted the world to know that it was a tragedy.

He hopes that Remus was able to communicate that at the funeral. The one that Sirius was cheated at. The one that Sirius never got to attend to give a proper goodbye. The one where people missed the memory of Sirius but not the person.

The crimes that Peter committed are growing day by day and Sirius has a hot ball of anger in his heart that is constantly fueling his regret at himself for not killing the man when he had the chance.

* * *

><p>The textbooks only ever claimed that dementors make the person relive their worst memories. That part is true. That part is undeniably, stab me in the eyes to blind me true. But they failed how the dead haunt your thoughts. How they infiltrate your mind and make you think of nothing but them. How every memory you visit of them, especially the happy ones, make you yearn for a time turner. Makes you scream in absolute horror that they are gone and you are well alive. The dementors are able to tint every solidly happy memory, makes you look at it with a heavy heart rather than laugh with joy.<p>

Sirius is convinced that they stole his vocal chords and laughter. Meant to be reclaimed once he's discharged along with his original clothes. He wonders if they kept his wand. Investigate the mad mind of Sirius Black, strip the wand to its core and see if it'll betray him like Peter betrayed him. He wonders if he'll get it back.

He wonders if he'll ever perform magic again. If he'll ever know what it's like to grip a wand, to have magic pulsing through your veins, to know just _exactly _what to do. He wishes he appreciated the moment more when he was staring into the rat's face. He wishes that he hid his wand before they wrapped the ropes around his wrists. He doesn't like the idea of his wand betraying him. Or worse, them not even _bothering _to examine it. As Lily used to say, "they caught him red handed". A confession from a fallen hero and twelve dead muggles, all at the wrong place at the wrong time.

He wonders what they told the muggle families. He never envied the job of the hit wizards. He could hardly imagine what it would be like to go to dead muggle's family, calmly telling them that they died in a wizarding accident. How there was enough magic in the air to cure the most wretched of diseases but no magic could ever awaken the dead. Ask them enough questions to see if the family had any previous knowledge of magic. And once the interview was over, to lift a wand and oblivate their memories. Calmly telling them for the second time that their loved one died in a _freak _accident. How sorry, and walk away as a person's world crumbled for the _second _time that day.

Yes, there was the obscene chance that they didn't even bother to look through the wand. Maybe they did and found no incriminating spells. Except the time he cast the patronus spell for what felt like twenty times in a row for Harry to clap and giggle and to point at around the room as the dog bounded around him. If the investigating James' wand, they'd find the same thing, as the dog and the dear used to play around with each other. Lily joined in, eventually, after she heard all three of them laugh until their tears fell down their face. Her doe was always the faster of the two as the dog and deer tried to catch it.

It's another dreary day in Azkaban. The wind is howling with the prisoners within. The sky is particular shade of grey, more blue than white but more black than blue. The clouds are twisted as if someone created them in a fit of rage rather than with a peaceful paintbrush. He's given up on seeing sunlight again. He _knows _that they charm the weather to isolate the prisoners. He remembers reading it in textbooks, how the prisoners would cry if they saw the sun. It was too bright for their weak eyes that had given up long ago to see and most of the prisoners hit under the benches. And then, there were the few who hardly noticed the bright rays; too wrapped up in their own world to notice a difference.

Sirius quite likes the moody weather. At least if he's having the miserable time, so should the weather.

* * *

><p>Weeks, months, certainly not years, but certainly weeks and months. There isn't a calendar or a clock for him to track.<p>

But he's started to hate himself. There is a mirror in the cell, he has no idea why since he's lost interest in his appearance, but there is one. And he's starting to be revolted by the very site of him. He averts his eyes whenever he's pacing. He would try to cover it up, but all he has is the rain water that pours in and the fabric (it would be exaggerating if he called it a 'robe') on his back. He can't destroy it, his cracked and bruised knuckles are his trophies of his failures.

So he tries to avert his eyes but is still sicken whenever he sees his reflection. It has to do with the fact that he _hates _himself for missing Peter.

He should clarify. He hates Peter, he thinks that the little meekly man should die. But a part of him, the eleven year old self that's terrified of Mr. and Mrs. Black, misses Peter. He misses the lame jokes that the boy used to say. He misses how observant the boy was and how willing he was to share.

In fourth year, Sirius was breaking everything in the dorm room. James' glasses were snapped in half, Sirius' essay for Slughorn was ripped to shreds, Remus secret snack collection was walked all over and the room was a general mess. It had something to do with a fight that he had with his parents (as usual) and little Peter tottered in. His watery eyes grew wide and the books in his arms dropped to the floor.

Sirius just huffed and puffed before collapsing to the ground, sitting cross legged as it just dawned on him that it wasn't _normal _to smash your roommates things. He sullenly repaired the glasses and Peter immediately went ahead and started cleaning the snacks. Sirius started to spellotape his essay together, and Peter sat down next to him, not saying a word, and helped him fit the pieces together. Once that was done, Peter stood up and rushed to his trunk, rummaged through, and found his stash of fudge. He held out the package for Sirius to eat some. Sirius grabbed a piece and Peter set it down in front of Sirius, and sat across from the fudge, gingerly taking a piece. The munched on the food noisily until it seemed to become a competition on who can eat in the most obnoxious way ever. By the time James and Remus walked in on them, they both had fudge all over their cheeks and crumbs were flying everywhere as the two boys laughed at each other. Remus wrinkled his nose in disgust as James dove, literally _dove, _to get the last piece of fudge.

Sirius aches for that Peter. How the _hell _did the Death Eaters get him? What did they promise him to convince him to betray his best mates? How did he get away with lying to them all, for at least a year? Why did he do it?

Did he no longer feel included in the group? Was there something that Sirius could've done? Was there something _any _of them could have done to make him feel more included? To make him think that they valued him more than Death Eaters?

Sirius knows, far too well, that the past few years have been rough on their friend group. Especially with James getting married and Lily getting pregnant and Remus disappearing into the full moon nights underground. And then, him and Peter were _never _on the same mission for the Order. There wasn't a real reason, it just how it happened. Like Lily used to say, "it's just how the cookie crumbles."

He doesn't believe that there will never be a time when he thinks of the muggle proverb or sayings to every bad things. He _knows _that he'll never forget her voice or how she bit her lip before she said the line, or how she'd look confused when both him and James stared at her weirdly because who says, 'that's how the cookie crumbles'?

He's starting to wish that her voice will go away, it always means a nightmare, which means only a few hours of sleep. Which means another few days that he stares wide eyed at the walls, hoping the cracks would widen for him to go through and so the wall will trap him in. He just wants this all to stop.

He hopes she understands.

* * *

><p>Every few days, the ministry officials come around asking if the prisoners want to go outside for a bit. There is clearly no schedule to how often they ask this. It had to be whenever a ministry official felt guilty about the prisoners here. After all, there had to be one guard that had a heart.<p>

At first, Sirius declines. Mostly because the guard that would ask was a complete _bastard. _He would take a stick and start banging the bars until Sirius fell off of his bench. And the guard would shout at him, and ask him in such aggressive way. Sirius was often scared and just said no.

But then, after every incident, he realizes that Lily would have wanted him to go outside.

When the Potters went into hiding, Lily would often sit by the window with Harry in her lap and stare outside longingly. She would twirl her hair as Harry would make gibberish noises. Sometimes, he would turn around and pull on his mother's hair, thinking it was a game and Lily would snap out of her day dreams.

Whenever Sirius left the house, she would _always _put a hand on his shoulder and tell him to enjoy the weather outside a little extra, just for her. Sirius would try to make a joke saying how awful the rain was since it matted his hair or how it was too bloody hot outside to do anything but melt. But Lily would give him a small smile, shrug her shoulders, and walk away.

So now, in Azkaban, where his only companions are the ghosts inside his head… he thinks it's the perfect time to listen to them. Therefore, he made a resolution that the next time a guard ask him if he wants to go outside, he'll accept. For her. To enjoy the weather a little extra.

And when the rude guard came around, and clanked at the bars, and crudely asked him; Sirius took a deep breath and nodded. The guard stared at him stupidly for a minute, blinking rapidly until he called for back ups. Two other ministry officials came hurrying by, staring fearfully at Black as he stood near the bars.

He wondered why _they _were scared. He had no wand. His hair was in knots. He was sure that he wore this robe a week too long. And he could barely remember the last time he took a shower. Perhaps he looked menacing this way, though, the cartoons that Harry used to watch had villains that looked _really _good. Or had ugly noses. Neither qualities that Sirius possessed.

After a minute of frantic whispers, did he feel the invisible ropes hind his hands together. Then his feet were tied together. Sirius sighed, looked down as the bars swung open. He shuffled along with the other prisoners, but none of them spoke to one another. Each one in their lonely world. Sirius noticed that his cousin was here nor was that mini-Crouch kid.

Perhaps they died. That would be nice.

The prisoners are led to a small court yard, with high walls, and the gloomy clouds stare down on them, as if debating if it's worth it to rain on their parade. At first, the prisoners just glare at the sky, shielding their face as the shuffle about. There are dementors in the courtyard, three. But with so many people, Sirius barely feels them.

He feels numb. He feels like he could sleep out in the cold for days and days with dreamless sleeps and wake up with the possibility of feeling hopeful of his future. He takes a deep breath as he wonders a bit deeper into the courtyard, his neck craned as he stares up into the sky.

The clouds are gloomy. There is plenty of grey in them, like the walls of Azkaban. The whites of the clouds barely show with all the darkness, but if he squints, he can see them. There is a rumbling from far away, as if warning about thunder. While the other prisoners complained about the excess guards (clearly low security inmates) and the crappy weather (what did they expect?), Sirius just stared up in the sky to enjoy the weather a little extra for those who couldn't.

It was one of the first times he felt hopeful in Azkaban and the ghosts in his head seemed less judgmental, less angry, less hateful and more loving and caring.

Just as their live versions. And he tries to desperately hang onto that perspective as he marches back into his cell. He tries to hold on to James' laughter and Lily's smile and Harry's gibberish (James _claimed _the kid was brilliant but the kids' talking pattern begged to differ).

It takes an hour till their ghosts turns back to demons.

* * *

><p>It takes another few weeks for him to notice something strange. He's located near the entrance of Azkaban. Though, he cannot understand why it took him so long. He's angry at himself for not figuring it out sooner. He spends an hour mentally insulting himself: stupid, foolish, idiotic, what were you thinking, you created a map of Hogwarts but couldn't bothered to figure out the floor plan of this hell?, what kind of brains do you have?, Gone soft now that you're in this <em>ickle <em>hell?, how long will it take you to learn something new?, aren't you young?, seems like you're old…

Especially since it was _so _obvious. He saw nearly _every _prisoner coming through. He learned their screams before they settled in. He could guess if they would be a crier or a yeller. He made eye contact most of the time with the newbies, silencing them as they gaped at him.

Sirius was a little trophy that the Ministry liked to place at the front. As if this was Hogwarts and he was the house championship trophy. Though, he was hardly cleaned or shined on a regular basis. His only goal was to scare the prisoners shitless. Make them go quiet for a second before they pass the lesser prisoners.

Did he take the thunder away from the _real _heroes from this tragedy? His stomach constricts as he hunches over on the bench. This thought, oddly enough, never crossed his mind. He always assumed that his arrest was a small column in the _Daily Prophet. _After all, he was almost certain that him getting beaten by Crouch was highly illegal (as if anyone cared for this body with brittle bones). He never saw anyone else other than Crouch and this Fudge character. There was no other official ministry members that interacted with him. He _assumed _that this had to do with the fact that he was such a lowly criminal, someone to just throw away and forget about.

But, thinking about it now, it seemed clear that he was a far bigger deal than he could have ever imagined. Why else would they place him in the front? Why else would every yelling, screaming, crying, and blabbering prisoner quiet down upon seeing him? More than once he saw someone pale when he made contact with them. And then there were the few, extremely rate, that passed out upon first glance.

Perhaps they used an old photo of him from school. Something from his glory days, as a before and after to place in the newspaper. Look at this nice young man, look how he smiles widely to the camera and watch as he morphs into this murderer, killing two of his best friends and he laughs like without a care in the world. As if this was the _happiest _moment of his life instead of his worst.

He thinks this his _hilarious. _Well, he always knew he'd be famous, and Merlin knows James had made enough jokes that his face would always appear on a 'Wanted' sign. It's something odd to be happy about, underneath it all it still sicken him, but there was that sort of madness that wrapped around his brain and smothered him.

Who gave a _fuck _anymore what he did? He was here until forever ended.

And so, the next time a prisoner came stumbling in, Sirius barked out laughing. Howling as loud as he could while clutching his weak ribs. Even the ministry officials stopped to give him a petrified look.

At least he wasn't only scaring himself anymore.

* * *

><p>Months go by. He thinks a year and a half must have crept by. It felt as if time was taking its sweet time to inch by. As if there was no rush to make it to tomorrow, next week, next month, or even next year.<p>

Another thing that Sirius learns, based on the lack of screaming and crying, that prisoners do not exit the way they came in. Sirius never sees a prisoner leaves. Unless it is in body bag, and he tries hard not to think when the time will come for him.

He knows that it's his future. He knows that one day, his body will stop fighting, he is surprised that it is _still _fighting. Why his body convinced him to eat. Why it convinced him to drink. Why it convinced him to go outside. Why it convinced him to maintain any routine of personal hygiene (he is quite proud of that). He wasn't sure _why _he seemed to care to survive when deep down, buried in his heart underneath his guilt and sadness, beyond a place where Lily and James roam with a crying Harry; he just wishes he would never wake up. Go to sleep and let it be.

He curses himself every morning that he wakes to see another day, then spends another hour _hating _the skin on his bones and the withering guilty guts within since he _knows _that Lily and James would trade places in an instant if it meant being alive and having just the _chance _to be with Harry.

He starts to think that they're stronger than him and that it should have been him that died that night. Once Hagrid took away Harry, he should have taken the wand to his head, screwed up his eyes and muttered the words. Merlin knows there was enough self-loathing that night to kill himself. Splitting his soul in half would be a fair price if he didn't have to think, if he didn't have to live in a world without Lily and James.

And then he hates himself even more for having that thought. How incredibly _selfish _for him to think that. He had Harry and Remus and that was enough reasons to live. And another dead body at the scene would have given Peter a clean slate to live his life and to go after Harry. No one knew the truth except the four of them, and a secret can be kept if three of them were dead. So at least there was a reason, a purpose for Sirius to still be breathing, even if it is a weak excuse.

Either way, Sirius can only envision himself dying in this ratty cell. Thirteen paces by thirteen paces. Though some days it seems smaller or larger. He thinks there are charms in place to randomly change the size to give the illusion that prisoners are crazy.

Or perhaps he's really lost his mind.

Either way, there was no mistaking it the day Barty Crouch and this whimsy woman, she looked as if one huff and puff would blow her over, came stumbling into Azkaban.

Sirius rushed forward and gripped his bars as Barty had to hold his wife up, and literally drag her across the floor. She's sobbing, clutching at his robes as if trying to tear pass the fabrics and skin and get to the heart. There was a sense of desperation there that Sirius hadn't seen in a long time.

And as she screamed pass, not even a glance his way, it oddly reminded him of Lily. He never had children and Harry was the closest thing but it was _amazing _to see what sacrifices parents were willing to make for their children. There was a fierceness in Lily that seemed to have arisen with Harry being born. There was a sense of happiness that erupted in James and even though the kid cried, yelled, crapped, and barfed; James still was seen smiling throughout the whole thing. It was a beautiful thing to watch really.

And there was this fight in this woman that he hadn't seen since Lily sobbed for Harry's life in the kitchen tables when the discussion came about for secret keepers.

They passed by his bars and he tried to follow them but lost tracked as they were led down another hallway. Sirius breathes deeply as he tries to crane his neck to follow their movements. He's not sure why it's important but it is.

A half an hour later, or so, the pair comes back. The wife is still leaning heavily on Crouch. He's struggling to support her. She's not sobbing or crying or yelling but clearly numbed by this insane asylum. Crouch has to ask for assistance as another ministry official supports her out. It's only as their bodies disappear out of the entrance that Sirius lets go of the bars.

A week later, ministry officials walk down the hallway with a black bag, letting it drag to the floor as the emptiness rattles through the prison. Minutes later, a levitating bag, filled with a body is floats down the hall.

This time, Sirius rushes to his bench and stands on his toes to look outside. The guards are waving their wands to clear away some dirt. To clear a grave away, and to Sirius horror, dump the bag lazily in before levitating the dirt back on there. There is a grave stone but no writing.

Sirius monitors the grave site for days on afterwards, trying to see if they had to dig out the bag and the body for the family.

No one comes back. Not even the sobbing mother.

And he wonders if he's allowed to get a guest when he's dying. If Remus would come upon his request. If Remus would come solely to spit on his face, to yell and shout until the guards drag him out as Sirius takes his last breath. He thinks company would be nice, at least one person at his death bed.

Because there will not be a single soul picking up his body. No mother, no father, no uncle, no aunt, no trusted cousins, and the Potters are dead. He has no hope of ever leaving this place, after all, he'll be buried here.

Maybe, just maybe, they'll let him pick his grave yard spot. That would be nice.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Love it? Hate it? Review it? <strong>


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